


From Now On

by Lady_Aran



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alpha Phasma, Alpha Phasma Can't Help It, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awesome Phasma, Badass Phasma, Belly Rubs, Childbirth, Comfort, Darth Tantrum and his Evil Space Ginger, Dominant Phasma, Established Lesbian Relationship, F/F, Hux is Not Nice, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Lesbian Phasma, Lesbian Sex, Lesbians in Space, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Night Terrors, No Alpha Female Dick Parts, No Lesbians Die, No Rape/Non-con Between Main Pairing, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Phasma Ships It, Post-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Protective Phasma, Rare Characters, Rare Pairings, References to Phasma Novel and Comics, Same-Sex Marriage, Sexual Slavery, Tags May Change, That's What Makes it Non Traditional A/B/O Dynamics lol, Tribadism, Vaginal Fingering, background kylux, but - Freeform, no TLJ spoilers, no knotting, other characters to be added - Freeform, star wars femslash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-03-18 07:19:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13676931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Aran/pseuds/Lady_Aran
Summary: It wasn't supposed to be this way.It was supposed to be a simple mission to the sea planet of Luprora to tie up a pesky loose end involving Lieutenant Rivas after Phasma discovered he possessed highly treasonous information regarding her involvement in the loss of Starkiller Base.That's all it was supposed to be... Nothing more. And most certainly not this – a weakening of the Captain's oft impervious defenses surrounding her cold, black heart. She muses, with some irony, that perhaps she is very much like Starkiller Base in more ways than one: Cold, imposing strength capable of striking palpable fear in entire star systems...but with one critical flaw that, should it become discovered, would mean its ultimate collapse. The irony of it all is not at all lost on her...And this beautiful woman sleeping soundly atop her chest, their naked breasts touching, had been the cause of such a critical flaw to the Starkiller Base that was her heart.





	1. It Began with a Fissure

**Author's Note:**

> *In Obi-Wan voice* Hello there. So, I was writing a Phasma/Samus Aran crossover that, I unfortunately lost interest in (but not the pairing itself) and scrapped, only to focus on another F/F story set entirely within the Star Wars universe -- this one you are reading right now! You may have noticed the pairing as "Phasma/Other" in regards to the relationship tag and I feel I should clarify who the "other" is -- she is TN-3465, otherwise known as "Pilot" from the "Captain Phasma" comics. So while I did give her an actual name, she is by NO MEANS an OC of mine. 
> 
> Also, a quick heads up -- you're going to notice I use the word "cycle" quite a bit throughout the story. Just know that I use it to describe a year's time. Also -- and this is the last one, I promise, lol -- characters will be added as the story progresses. 
> 
> All set? Then here we go!

_Sithspit!_

 

It wasn't supposed to be this way.

 

It was supposed to be a simple mission to the sea planet of Luprora to tie up a pesky loose end involving Lieutenant Rivas after Phasma discovered he possessed highly treasonous information regarding her involvement in the loss of Starkiller Base.

 

That's all it was supposed to be... Nothing more. And most certainly not _this –_ a weakening of the Captain's oft impervious defenses surrounding her cold, black heart. She muses, with some irony, that perhaps she is very much like Starkiller Base in more ways than one: Cold, imposing strength capable of striking palpable fear in entire star systems...but with one critical flaw that, should it become discovered, would mean its ultimate collapse. The irony of it all is not at all lost on her.

 

And this beautiful woman sleeping soundly atop her chest, their naked breasts touching, had been the cause of such a critical flaw to the Starkiller Base that was her heart.

 

But, by the gods, she loves it – she, the ruthlessly cold Captain Phasma, strongest warrior of Parnassos and dutiful servant of the First Order! Surely, Phasma has told herself on numerous occasions in the month since Luprora, it had to be a mistake – love and affection didn't exist for beings like herself: Alphas in any capacity were known for merely quelling their immediate desires with a suitable partner before moving on in their journey aboard the mortal coil. Rarely did they experience a need for stable companionship or the soft, reassurances of a partner. Yet, here she was.

 

Phasma gazes down at the still sleeping woman, her fingers gently combing through her short, choppy black hair. TN-3465, human female, one point seven meters in length, seventy kilograms. Twenty eight cycles old. Serving as a pilot within the Special Forces TIE Corps. She is athletically built, toned, but not hulking. Feminine. She has a light about her Phasma still hasn't quite comprehended yet, something about her with enough gravitational pull to attract a small sun. Or in this case, a ruthlessly frigid stormtrooper Captain.

 

Phasma continues to lazily play with her lover's hair until she feels the smaller woman begin to stir against her. Phasma nuzzles her nose into her hair as her big, calloused hands trace along the valley of her spine. “Hmm, it is time to awaken, my pearl...” she murmurs, her voice clipped but gentle even in the silence of her quarters. Perhaps, the Captain wonders, it is time to rectify their living arrangements given just how often they have woken up together in the same bed lately.

 

TN-3465 stirs again, her head snuggling into Phasma's pale bosom intently. “...Just a little bit longer,” she replies huskily. “So warm...”

 

Phasma chuckles somewhere deep in her throat. It's a sentiment she shares internally but knows she is needed elsewhere this morning aboard the _Finalizer._ “I wish that were so, my pearl, but I cannot keep General Hux waiting this morning.”

 

TN-3465 lifts her head, her blue eyes heavy and crusted over with sleep. “But can't it wait, love? There's...” Her gaze turns uncertain – apprehensive – before returning to Phasma. “something we must discuss.”

 

Phasma cups her soft cheek in her palm before claiming her lips. “I will see to it that we have a proper time to discuss these pressing matters, Sarin. Until then, come now, it is time for us to begin our duties.”

 

A soft smile graces the other woman's face. Phasma only called her by her name when she absolutely had to, or in the private of their quarters, but hearing it come from her in that clipped and proper Coruscanti accent, oozing with subtle sensuality, well...it never got old. Sarin steals a quick kiss from the esteemed Captain before seeing herself to the fresher, all the while feeling Phasma's piercing gaze follow her. The Captain drinks in the sight of her lover, humming deep with pleasure at what she sees. The soft swell of her supple, naked buttocks, the toned musculature of her thighs, the chiseled strength of her arms, her full breasts and hips...yes, Phasma reminds herself with a lusty grin, she will have to make time for them later today indeed.

 

* * *

 

With her trademark armor polished to a high shine, mirrorlike in its appearance, and cape freshly pressed and billowing in the wake of her imposing grace, Phasma strides into the briefing room and takes a seat at the long glass table. Though she projects her usual aura of calm, her thoughts are elsewhere, and have been far too often lately, she notes. On Sar – _TN-3465_ , she reminds herself. _Names have no purpose while on duty_. Phasma is aware of TN-3465 having become her weakness, yet she cannot fathom her life without her. Not anymore. She feels her face and body grow warm underneath the bulk of her armor as a sudden carnal urge pulses between her legs. Phasma attempts to curtail the urge by biting her lip hard enough to draw blood, but the subsequent metallic taste does nothing to soothe her.

 

General Hux stands at the head of the table, arms behind his back. As always, his dress is exquisite and not a single red hair on his head is out of place. Presentation is everything to him, no doubt having been beaten into him (literally) from a young age by his father, the late Brendol Hux. No son of his was ever going to take control of the galaxy while looking like a pile of bantha fodder!

 

As others file into the room, the General turns his attention briefly to his trusted confidant – about as much as he can trust her, anyway – and notices, with some curiosity, that the Captain's demeanor feels a bit off... She is physically here, this much he can see, but her mind...it appears to be elsewhere. In the years he's known her, Hux has more or less become an expert in decoding the mystery that is Captain Phasma by pure body language alone. Her broad shoulders are slumped forward in the most minute way, her head bowed slightly; he can tell her gaze, though shrouded by her helmet, is fixed upon the table space directly in front of her. _She's thinking about something...or_ someone _, perhaps?,_ the ginger thinks to himself, his curiosity having gotten the better of him. _But what...or who?_

 

He acknowledges the Captain with his usual forked tongue way of speaking in spite of his concern that one of his most trusted weapons in the war with the Republic may not be functioning at one hundred percent. “Is everything in order, Captain, or shall we go on without you?”

 

The deadpan snark appears to have pulled Phasma out of her reverie. “I'm fine.” she replies calmly and without the slightest rise to her deep voice. “Please continue, General.”

 

* * *

 

Phasma meets with TN-3465 in the officer's mess hall later that stimulated day during shift change. The expansive room, filled with durasteel tables and chairs, caf and food stations, is mostly vacant, save for a few off duty stormtroopers and deck officers relaxing with a hot meal, a cup of caf, or engaging in some other form of permissible stress release. Phasma and TN-3465 make sure to hold their conversation away from prying eyes and awkward glances – a small corner table suffices for the purpose.

 

TN-3465 nurses a cup of caf in her black gloved hands, savoring the hot breath of the potent brew as it kisses her face. She closes her eyes for a moment. Like the steam, she find the relative quiet soothing. It's a far cry from the ear shattering cacophony of the hanger deck, to be sure. But she also finds Phasma's presence to be relaxing as well. She's been craving it ever since their parting this morning, constantly checking her wrist chronometer in anticipation for this moment. Yet she dares not show her lover any hints of affection out in the open, no matter how much she desires to hold her hand at this very moment.

 

She moves her gaze from her caf mug to Phasma, still dressed from head to toe in her heavy chrome armor. Though she'd rather talk to Phasma physical face to physical face, again she reminds herself of the rules, this time surrounding Phasma's true identity. Instead, TN-3465 addresses the woman as if they are both still on duty to avoid attracting unwanted attention. “Thank you for meeting me, Captain. There's something we must discuss.”

 

Phasma acknowledges her with a knowing nod. “I already know, TN-3465.”

 

Her eyes suddenly grow big with shock, her face red with embarrassment. Quickly, she averts her gaze away from the blank expression upon Phasma's masked face to her caf once more.

 

In spite of the trickling of off duty troops into the hall, Phasma reaches to gently grasp the chin of her lover between her thumb and index finger. Behind the polarized lenses of her helmet, TN-3465's beauty is marred in a reddish tint. The Captain's voice, filtered through the vocoder inside her helmet, is even yet atypically gentle. “We shall discuss this more in private. Come now.”

 

Once inside the safety and privacy of Phasma's quarters, both women take a seat upon the simple bed; Phasma unlocks the latches of her helmet, only to promptly remove it and carefully place it on the bed next to her, to reveal a face covered in scars – her only memories of a past life spent fighting for survival. Her skin is the color of alabaster, the result of having spent the last eleven cycles of her life shrouded in armor and the coldness of the _Finalizer'_ s durasteel walls. Atop her head sits a crown of short platinum blond hair, cut and styled in a way similar to General Hux' own, minus the copious amounts of product. Phasma's eyes, an almost ethereal shade of light blue are intense, the ever watchful eyes of a warrior, yet they appear open and yielding to this woman before her, and her alone.

 

She takes hold of Sarin's hands, gently clasping them. “I have known ever since we first became acquainted during the collapse of Starkiller Base. Tell me, how were you able to conceal it for so long?” Phasma asks. “Surely, you were thoroughly tested prior to your indoctrination into the First Order?”

 

Strangely, Sarin can't help but feel an odd sense of relief wash over her now that Phasma knows – and has always known – of her deeply guarded secret. But she knows not to expect it will last forever, given the Order's – and truthfully, a large swath of the more civilized systems' – xenophobic policies concerning documented sentient Omega beings. “Suppressants, mostly. From...outside sources. Taken them in some form most of my life, but especially during puberty.” she tells Phasma with a sigh before her look turns pensive. “But they've... They aren't working as well as they used to.” she adds, knowing full well that the repercussions had the potential to become catastrophic.

 

Phasma senses as much and brings her arms around her distraught lover's waist as much as her constrictive armor will allow. Sarin tucks her head beneath Phasma's chin and shivers briefly at the coldness of the armor against her skin. “Do not fret, my pearl. But I must be frank, I'm sure I don't have to tell you the repercussions should this reach the attention of High Command.”

 

Sarin instinctively tightens her grip around the bulk of Phasma's armor. “No, you don't. Captain I--”

 

“Phasma,” the Captain softly interjects as the slightest grin curls the corner of her mouth, “we are off duty and in private.”

 

Sarin returns the gentle grin before it quickly fades and is replaced by pain. “Yes. Phasma. I...I can't see you anymore.”

 

The oft stoic Captain suddenly feels her chest tighten, her heart feeling as if it's locked inside a vice being squeezed. She has felt pain before, as a warrior on the field of battle, but this pain...it is different and terrifying, pervasive and seeping into the very marrow of her bones. “Sarin...,” is all she is able to say before the rest of the sentence falls away in silence. “I will protect you. With my life, if it should come to that. Please...” Phasma begins again after a quiet moment. A disconcerting bile percolates from the depths of her stomach at the sound of her voice; it's...begging? Never has she allowed herself to stoop to such a pathetic level! Yet she cannot help herself from stooping to such levels, knowing how much the pair mean to each other. “Don't do this.”

 

Sarin comes from Phasma's arms, only to get up and start pacing around the simple, utilitarian space. She brings one of her digits to her lips and nervously nibbles at the nail as a bevy of thoughts race through her mind at lightspeed, frantic and suffocating. The room falls into silence. The pragmatist in her recounts a portion of the First Order handbook on conduct, making sure to point out that: ' _relationships of any kind – with limited exceptions – are strictly forbidden, and any personnel found guilty of such acts will result in the reconditioning or permanent ban of BOTH parties regardless of rank.'_ The little voice in her head is also quick to remind her of the fact that she is a humanoid Omega, but she quickly dismisses the voice with her own: “You're an Alpha, aren't you?”

 

“Yes,” Phasma replies, “The last of my homeworld...”

 

“So you are well aware of the potential consequences should a bond form between an Alpha and Omega?”

 

It's a question that causes Phasma to recoil into silence. Yes, she is, very much so in fact. But that...that was ancient history, a memory of her past life that she would very much rather it stay buried within the deepest recesses of her mind. It does, however, still make her think – could she, a prized weapon and servant of the First Order, accept any and all consequences of this relationship should they arise? She, a survivor, first and foremost? As she comes from the bed, Phasma is reminded of something Kylo Ren told her once during one of the rare times they'd confided in one another during a sparring session:

 

“ _Let the past die. Kill it if you have to.”_

 

She stands before Sarin in just a step, towering over her. Phasma reaches across to her left shoulder for the clasp of her armorweave Captain's cape. Sarin watches as the prestigious garment falls to the floor in a heap of black fabric before feeling the cold strength of Phasma's form against her own as the Captain draws her arms around her waist. “You are worth the risks involved, whatever they may be, my dear.”

 

The raven-haired woman snuggles into the hard surface in spite of it all, her eyes closing as she allows herself to melt into the polished chrome. She is aware there is great risk involved from now on, but she cannot deny the security she feels within Phasma's presence, her arms around the broad trunk that is the Captain's form. Sarin has never felt safer nor more accepted than she does in this moment.

 

“You're trembling,” Phasma notes. “Are you well?”

 

Sarin looks up to address the concerns of her lover, cupping her strong cheek in her gloved palm. “I'm fine, yes. Just...nervous, I guess. I never thought that night on Luprora would end up meaning anything.” she sheepishly admits.

 

 _Ren would say it's the will of the Force that brought us together_ , Phasma thinks. The Knight is almost fanatical in his beliefs surrounding the mystical energy and had been clearly blessed with the gift of how to manipulate it for his own personal gain even though Phasma herself is still uncertain of its existence. “We cannot worry about what we do not know to be certain, my dear. It is a waste of time.”

 

Sarin holds Phasma in her gaze, her eyes wide with curiosity. “Even...?” she asks, holding her breath in anticipation of hearing Phasma's response.

 

Phasma knows what her lover is alluding to, among the other possibilities. In some strange way, it fills her with a long absent sense of hope for herself...something she hasn't felt since she'd managed to claw her way off that hopeless rock. At least now, here, her pups would be taken care of. They would be safe here among the stars, free of rampant disease and starvation... But would they be strong in the presence of such convenience? Phasma had been raised as a warrior in order to survive her world. It was as mandatory as the salve used on her body to keep disease at bay. But her progeny? They would be born into this world knowing nothing of struggle as she had known. But they would be strong, that much she would make certain.

 

“Are you all right, love?”

 

The soft voice is enough to bring the Captain from her reverie. “Hm? Oh, yes. I was just thinking.” she replies. “And yes, even the possibility which you alluded to, Sarin. We will simply take things as they come, my pearl. Whatever they may be.” Phasma mentally grins to herself as she envisions her mate heavy with their pups and her breasts full and fat with nourishment. 

 

Little do they know how much their lives are about to change.

 

For better or worse.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. The Spark That Lights The Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarin goes through her first heat since becoming involved with Phasma...and the Captain, always attentive to the needs of her Omega, knows exactly what the pilot needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the only explicit scene for awhile so enjoy it, my pretties! This chapter is a bit of a "milestone" for me, in that not only is it my first F/F sex scene, but it is also my first foray into Omegaverse, A/B/O, whatever you want to call it. The point is, if things appear different here than what is typically found within Omegaverse, it's because I've just discovered Omegaverse, and the consent issues typically found within the 'verse are triggers for me.

Later, in the middle of that simulated night, Phasma sits within the quiet stillness of her quarters, datapad in hand and going back and forth between reading it and watching Sarin as she sleeps. The Captain has always been somewhat of a light sleeper, yet she's able to recharge herself in as little as four standard hours and still operate at her peak. It's a skill she more or less perfected as a warrior on Parnassos, where it was required that at least one tribe member remain awake through the night so as to be able to warn the others of potential threats.

 

Seeing that all is well with Sarin, Phasma returns to her datapad. Though she has some understanding of Omegas and the various laws against them, the Captain is rather fastidious when it comes to expanding her knowledge of a given subject. It is only a fool who charges headlong into a battle unprepared! She knows if this relationship is to flourish properly, then its complex inner workings must be thoroughly studied and prepared for.

 

Eventually, Phasma returns her attention to Sarin, noticing the coarse dark gray bedsheets are a mess at her legs. Upon closer inspection of her, Phasma notices that she appears to be trembling and covered in a light sheen of sweat. She places a careful hand on the woman's bare shoulder. “Sarin? Are you well?”

 

But she doesn't reply, only continues to shiver even as Phasma draws the blankets back over her body. The Captain kneels at her bedside, her large hand coming to brush against Sarin's forehead. _She's warm, but not feverish_ , Phasma concludes. It provides little comfort to her, however. “Sarin? Wake up. Tell me what is wrong.” Having researched Omegas for several hours, however, the Captain can take a guess at what it might be causing the other woman to have fits in her sleep.

 

Sarin comes around moments later, her eyes heavy, but wild. Phasma cups her cheek. Her voice is gentle. “Talk to me. It's starting...isn't it?”

 

She nods, confirming Phasma's creeping suspicion that the woman has entered her monthly heat cycle. It is a dangerous period for the Omega, lasting anywhere from one standard week to two standard weeks. Phasma has seen it before, a long time ago...with another. On Parnassos. An Omega female, very much like Sarin. Phasma had fought her fellow clan members tooth and nail to protect her from the lascivious advances of other Alphas. To Phasma's knowledge, none of the rank and file are Alphas or Omegas, but Betas, meaning they have no advantage over their peers, nor do they suffer from the crippling sexual urges of the Alpha or Omega. This keeps them from becoming distracted and useless during wartime, when focus should be at its keenest.

 

In the present, Phasma brings her arm around Sarin's shoulder and helps her to sit up in the bed. At the same time, her suspicions are made all but certain when she begins to feel that familiar carnal urge tugging at her loins once more, incessant in its urgency. She stifles a grunt and strains to keep her arousal at bay; with her free hand, Phasma clenches a handful of bedsheets. “Sarin...,” she grunts, tilting her head back and gasping as the urge to copulate threatens to consume her.

 

Sarin watches her lover strain against her own urges, her eyes are wild and savage. She's seen that look before in Phasma's eyes, but nothing more. In the time they have been together, she has been able to keep herself in control, but Sarin suspects it is only because they have yet to experience a full heat cycle together. Until now, that is. Now, it is another matter entirely, and both women are all but certain there will be consequences to bear from this moment forward.

 

But none they are willing to face alone.

 

Sarin pushes against her lover, her hands dipping beneath the simple dark gray fabric of Phasma's shirt to sample the strength of her back before pulling the garment over her head and tossing it haphazardly to the floor. Phasma is far less methodical in her efforts to expose Sarin's form, ripping the shirt clean off her body and tossing it over her shoulder. She latches on hungrily to Sarin's neck, nibbling and grazing the flesh with her teeth. She inhales the intoxicating scent of sweat and sweetness emanating from her skin. "Mine," Phasma purrs against the Omega's neck before marking the side of her neck with her canines.

 

"All yours." Sarin allows herself to moan as she loses herself in the moment, the sound and feeling of Phasma suckling her flesh and breathing – hot - against her neck a pleasure to her senses. Her fingers run through Phasma's hair as the weighty Parnassian guides their entwined bodies to the bed's surface, her lips, teeth and tongue suckling, biting, grazing – ravishing – the flesh of her lover's neck and collar bone. Phasma takes her time exploring further down, making sure to pay special attention to Sarin's cues and body language. A gasp from grazing a particular spot, a deep, throaty moan during a flick of her tongue against Sarin's nipples, the clench of her body while Phasma takes said nipples into her hungry mouth and circles them with her tongue – Phasma is storing it all within her vast computer of a mind.

 

Sarin breaks her lover's exploration with a fiercely deep kiss of her mouth. It's long and languid as their tongues clash, and tastes faintly of potent black caf. She's the first to break away moments later, her lungs empty of breath and mind shrouded in a heavy intoxicating mist full of the sight, sounds and taste of her mate. It settles over her like a thick veil, suffocating whatever sanity or second guesses she may have had about this situation, a situation ripe with possibility on both sides of the moral spectrum. Yet, she is not afraid of whatever may be born from this moment in time.

 

“Phasma...” she breathes against the Captain's strong neck, causing her to cease her kissing of Sarin's shoulder.

 

Phasma looks down at her lover with a sincerity all but Sarin would consider unnerving. But the TIE pilot can see a patience and tenderness behind those eyes very few – if any – have ever seen. “Yes?”

 

Sarin cups Phasma's face betwixt her hands. “Whatever happens... Promise me--”

 

But the Captain interjects before Sarin is able to finish her sentence, almost as if the pair have become so ingrained into each other they are able to finish each other's thoughts. “I promise, my dear. No harm shall befall you nor our pups.”

 

Phasma cements the oath with a kiss before easing herself atop her lover once more, her limber digits flicking the waist hem of Sarin's standard-issue black leggings. The TIE pilot supports herself on her elbows, licking her lips at the sight of her half clothed lover -- her body handsome and akin to that of the warrior she was raised as, and the warrior she continues to exemplify – reaching between her legs to tease her. The Captain likes what she feels even in spite of the restrictive fabric – Sarin is damp with slick.

 

Phasma grips Sarin's muscled thighs with her big, callused hands as a sultry grin curves a corner of her lips. “Let me love you,” she tells her, "fill you with my pups." It is a demand, issued in that same clipped, authoritative tone of voice Phasma uses to strike unquestioning obedience in her legions, yet it is laced with undertones of a heartfelt desire to open this woman before her, explore her in ways she's only dreamed about, only to awaken wet with arousal. But not tonight. Tonight, she is in control. Without so much as another word, Phasma tears away any and all impediments towards her goal, tossing them behind her broad shoulders, where they eventually fall in a shredded heap on the floor.

 

But Phasma's too preoccupied to care about a few messed garments, especially now that Sarin has opened her legs and presented, her toned arms outstretched and waiting to embrace her. _Not yet_ , Phasma tells herself. Her pearl is simply too beautiful to waste such opportunity by merely snuggling. She wants to tease and taste – savor -- this fair skinned woman before her, until neither of them have nothing left to give. And Phasma does exactly this – she burns a trail of kisses -- some sloppy and wet, some full of grace and tenderness – to the north of Sarin's knees, savoring each and every hiss, moan, and tremble from her as she slows her pace to a deliberate, maddening crawl, having reached the vulnerable flesh of the TIE pilot's inner thighs.

 

Sarin tilts her head back, both frustrated and excited by the Captain's deliberate pace. She can feel her inching her way towards her wet labia, her inner walls tightening every time she feels Phasma's tongue taste her flesh or her hot breath ghosting against her thighs. Sarin reaches between her legs to take Phasma's messed hair into both hands, pulling at the short strands. Phasma gazes up at her then, a grin of satisfaction on her face. “That's good. But is that all you've got?” she tells her lover with a grin, her nose dangerously close to Sarin's dark lips; Phasma bobs her tongue in and out like a snake against one of the folds to taste – and tease -- her lover, who vocalizes her pleasure with a satisfied moan, a sound that is no doubt music to the Alpha's ears.

 

Phasma spreads her lover's folds, noting that they appear lubricated and fuller now. Dark. She inhales the slightly musky scent, her mouth watering. She's careful to pull back the hood -- Sarin's clit is engorged and gleaming. The Captain brushes the tip of her nose against the bulb and smiles upon feeling her lover tense briefly.

 

But Sarin, unable to bear the torture any longer, soon takes matters into her own hands, thrusting herself against Phasma's face, yet the Captain stands ready and promptly laps her tongue at the moist interior of her lover, feasting upon it as if she has been starved of this type of contact for cycles – and in many ways, she has been. Soldiers of the Order were expected to remain celibate when it came to sexual intimacy as a way to keep them focused on nothing but doing their jobs. Any semblance of attachment had the potential to cause weak links in the chain, and many troopers, Phasma herself included, had merely adapted to living an ascetic life spent denying the self.

 

But, as she well knows, even the most impenetrable willpower is ultimately no matter for the Alpha's hardwired instinct to mate in the pure hopes of continuing their lineage. Unlike her previous mating on Parnassos, however, which was done out of mere necessity, Phasma feels this one to be special, as if there is far more to it than mere satisfaction. She looks upon her lover, still quivering from the warmth of her tongue inside her, when it becomes as clear as a kyber crystal to the oft stoic stormtrooper Captain – the once simple crack in the armor surrounding her heart has been further compromised. She's fallen for this woman, and she would do anything to protect her. But Phasma is a prideful, head-strung woman, and admitting such a weakness would be betraying all that she stands for, and all she has endured in order to get to this point in her life.

 

“Sarin, it is time.” Phasma announces quietly before wiping her nose and chin of Sarin's slick on the sheets. She is careful to collect what remains of the Omega on her mouth with her tongue, savoring the tang and musk of it. Phasma quickly runs her fingers through her sweaty blond hair. “Are you ready?”

 

“I thought you'd never ask,” smiles the TIE pilot with a look of relief on her face as her shoulders slump just a bit. She spreads her legs once more, her knees and thighs trembling in the wake of Phasma's surprising skill with her mouth and tongue. She's incredibly adept – and loving -- at the act of cunnilingus for someone rumored to be asexual and emotionless. An impish grin cocks the pilot's mouth. “Permission to fuck me, Captain.”

 

Captain Phasma, however, is less than amused, her blond eyebrows furrowing together. “Language,” she admonishes before positioning herself between Sarin's legs and gripping her hips. Their groins, both wet with arousal, touch and both women feel the same electric spark course through their bodies. “I really should discipline you for being so vulgar in my presence,” she adds, eyes focused on Sarin with intent before stealing a kiss from her. “But I'll allow it...just this once.”

 

Sarin, still grinning like a mischievous little imp, brings her toned arms around Phasma's waist, only to cup the hard swell of her buttocks with both hands in an attempt to bring them even closer together. And it works -- Phasma responds by pushing herself against her partner with a grunt before working her hips into a slow and rhythmic friction. The Omega purrs with delight. "Yes! Fuck me, fuck me good! Want to feel you, to fill me with your pups!" Like any attentive lover, Phasma is keen on making sure the apex of each push makes ample contact with her partner's clit even behind its hood, while Sarin is busy helping Phasma work towards an orgasm of her own by stimulating her nipples, her neck – pretty much any fleshy real estate she's able to love with her mouth – with her lips, tongue, teeth, and touch.

 

For Phasma, the ritual is just as much about endurance as it is forming a lifebond with a partner. Her body has been conditioned since her youth to be able to go for as long as possible in any given environment. But as she continues to push and grind against her partner's vulva and clitoris, the friction between them growing in warmth and urgency, their bodies hitching and sticky with sweat, one thing stands clear to Phasma – this moment of bliss and tenderness will end soon.

 

And it does, nearly an hour after it had initially begun with Sarin awakening from slumber trembling and sweating, on the precipice of her cycle. Phasma, to her discouragement, comes first all over -- and inside -- her lover's vulva. Sarin, however – and to the Captain's surprise – actually takes a bit more effort to reach her peak, in the from of manual stimulation, which Phasma readily partakes in. When she finally reaches her peak some five minutes later, the exhausted TIE pilot rests her entire weight atop her hardy lover and reaches to entwine her fingers into Phasma's own.

 

As they drift into what few hours of sleep and peace they have left before their shifts begin, Phasma feels something akin to peace – and dare she say, _hope_? – come over her like the very blankets covering her and Sarin at this very moment. Hope had been a hard thing to come by in her past life on Parnassos – well, unless she counted the hope of sweet, glorious death – when she wasn't sure if she nor her clan members would survive the day and night. But she feels it now, lying next to Sarin. And it feels strange and terrifying, but oddly comforting in a way nothing ever has before.

 

 _Perhaps_ , the Captain wonders, her eyelids growing heavy, _there is a glimmer of hope for me – for us – yet.._

 


	3. Warning Shots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phasma returns to the Finalizer after a lengthy mission, eager to reunite with Sarin, but when the Omega is nowhere to be found, Phasma can't help but worry that her mate is in danger.

The war against the Resistance has seen drastic changes in the course of two months, with victories on both sides. They've waged the majority of the war across the ever changing waters of the galaxy. On the ground, however, is where the First Order has seen most of their victories. Ground forces, led by Captain Phasma, have for the moment turned the tide in favor of the First Order. With Resistance forces already stretched thin, Phasma and her troops have easily laid claim to several Resistance strongholds. The Supreme Leader is pleased by the gains his forces have made, but knows more must be done if they are to crush the Resistance once and for all.

 

As a key element in much of the recent ground victories, Phasma has spent much of the last two months engaged in combat, serving on the front lines with her troops. TN-3465, to her credit, has also made various contributions to the war efforts in space. Until very recently, however, after becoming stricken by a nagging illness. Until she's been cleared by her superior, TN-3465 has been forced to accept a temporary role as a ship mechanic. Though she still plays a critical role in the war effort, she can't help but feel a tad disgruntled by the sudden change in scenery.

 

Due to the sudden escalation of the war by both sides, Phasma and TN-3465 haven't seen much of each other since the night of their bonding. They have not, however, grown apart on account of the war.

 

Captain Phasma is set to return to the _Finalizer_ sometime during this simulated day after a lengthy mission to a backwater planet located within the Outer Rim territories. And TN-3465 has never felt a more nervous anticipation as she waits for her partner to return from the fires of war. In the meantime, however, she has her work as a mechanic to keep her busy...when her body isn't betraying her, or forcing her to sprint towards the nearest 'fresher, that is. Recently, it has become enough of a problem to draw concerns from fellow personnel – not for her well-being, of course, but for the sake of the Order's continued dominance – and garner the attention of General Hux himself.

 

General Hux has ordered for the pilot to report directly to him. The setting for such a meeting, however, she thinks, is rather odd considering the circumstances. The General's personal quarters. Two stormtroopers are standing guard at the door, on either side, but stand down briefly to let her inside after being given the go-ahead by Hux. Stepping inside, TN-3465 immediately notes the sheer size – the main room itself is larger than the entirety of the standard stormtrooper quarters; the sleeping quarters are in another room off to the side. The General's quarters are opulent, awash in shades of the Order's trademark colors, and distinguished – befitting of the General's rank and attention to detail. The main room is mostly dark, save for the dim light bar against the back wall, where Hux is sitting behind his desk.

 

As usual, he's dressed in full uniform, with his long black general's coat hanging off his shoulders. He's cordial despite the ominous environment. “Thank you for coming, TN-3465. Please...make yourself comfortable.”

 

She stands before Hux, shoulders back, rigid posture, before saluting the General. “Sir.”

 

“At ease, TN-3465.” he announces.

 

She relaxes her rigid posture only slightly, but her hands remained fixed behind her back.

 

“I'll get straight to the point, TN-3465. There has been a growing concern amongst maintenance personnel that you have become a weak link in the chain that keeps this organization running smoothly. I'm certain I do not have to remind you of just how critical this conflict is.”

 

She swallows hard in an attempt to keep the suddenly rolling of her stomach at bay. “No, sir. I am completely committed to the cause.”

 

Hux stands, and the hairs on the back of the woman's neck prick upwards as the General's eyes and tone grow dark. “Are you really?” he asks with his usual snark. “...I wonder about that.”

 

TN-3465's mouth opens slightly in a gasp, the confusion evident on her face. “Y-yes, sir. I'm not sure I--”

 

The air around her suddenly begins to ominously hum and vibrate as her body becomes wracked by the agonizing sensation of being incessantly poked with a bevy of needles. Hux looks on, his expression mostly stoic, save for the sadistic gleam in his eyes at the sight of the woman in pain. Soon, she feels hands – invisible, but powerful – draw around her neck, forcing her to clutch at the collar of her uniform while she vainly gasps for breath. She can only watch with dawning horror as Kylo Ren, apprentice and dark enforcer of Supreme Leader Snoke, emerges from the shadows to stand at the General's side. Though the room is mostly dark, and Ren himself is dressed from head to toe in thick black robes, there is no mistaking his omnipotent presence within the room.

 

Ren's voice is ominously deep, thanks to the modified vocoder in his helmet. “You can't hide anything from me, TN-3465. Though you may try, I can assure you it is inevitable. And now you'll give it to me.”

 

TN-3465 chokes on her words, “I d-don't--”

 

The blood quickly rushes to her head as she's lifted off the ground by Ren's Force power. Next to him, Hux is looking upon the scene with wry amusement, knowing that, like himself, Kylo had a tendency to be overly dramatic and pompous at times, especially when it came to demonstrating his unique Force powers. And as much as he'd like to stay here and observe Kylo's unique brand of sadism – it excites him, frankly – Hux knows Phasma will be returning from her mission soon. He looks down at the chronometer on his wrist. “Do make this quick, Ren – and remember to exercise at least a little restraint. The Supreme Leader wishes for her to remain alive.”

 

The dark Knight remains stationary, gloved palm outstretched in front of himself. He's almost proud of the female pilot over how long she's managed to stay alive in spite of his Force choke. Perhaps her tenacity is one of the reasons Snoke has taken an interest in her. She's got spark, but that's all Ren is willing to give her. He clenches his hand, his fingers curving into talons, and the phantom grip around the pilot's neck tightens further. “I make no promises, General. Leave us.”

 

* * *

 

Hours later, three First Order Transports settle down gently on the deck of Hanger Five within the _Finalizer_. The landing gears deploy with a hiss before the gangplank jettisons and the remaining forty five stormtroopers file out in pairs, their usually stark white armor caked in the grime of combat. Captain Phasma is the last to depart from the central transport. Like her troops, her chromium armor is in rough shape, her armorweave cape ragged and filthy, but it is nothing that can't be fixed. After issuing her final orders, the troopers silently disperse in the same formation. Phasma uses the opportunity to scan the hangar for any sign of TN-3465 – usually found suspended in the air via mechnolift, tending to the various fighters and transports – but finds no sign of her anywhere.

 

“TN-3465 – what is your location?” Phasma asks into her comms device.

 

Nothing but unnerving silence on the other line. She tries again, this time more direct. “TN-3465, report. This is Captain Phasma.”

 

“C-Captain...?” Even through the cacophony of noise within the hangar, the strangled nature of the reply is enough to cause the hairs on the back of Phasma's neck to bristle.

 

“Where are you?” Phasma replies, her tone one of indifference. On the inside, however, she can already feel a lump of concern forming in the pit of her stomach.

 

TN-3465's response is one of apprehension. “I-I can't tell you.”

 

Phasma tightens her grip around her custom F11-D rifle. The pilot sounds scared and disoriented...as if she's just recently been beaten to within an inch of her life. And that earlier lump of concern forming inside of the Captain's stomach soon turns to one of fury. “I demand to know – are you in danger?”

 

“I-I can't say...”

 

Traces of the quiet fury building within Phasma seep into her usually calm dialect. “This will go far more quickly if you cooperate, TN-3465. For the last time, tell me where you are.”

 

After a few tense moments of silence, the pilot concedes, her voice a mere whisper. “I don't know where I am. That's the truth. All I can tell you is I was speaking to General Hux one moment, and struggling for breath the next.”

 

Phasma grits her teeth from within her helmet. “What has he done to you?”

 

“It...it wasn't General Hux, Captain. It was Commander Ren. He was there in the room with him. I don't remember much after he choked me unconscious. Please hurry...” Her next words are but a mere choked back whisper, “I'm not sure how much longer I can hold on...”

 

“What did Ren do to you?”

 

“Just hurry, Captain. Please...”

 

Phasma ends the transmission before breaking into a brisk walk for the nearest turbolift, suddenly lusting with savage intent.

 

* * *

 

Having been stationed aboard the _Finalizer_ since her informal indoctrination into the First Order nearly a deca-cycle ago, as well as being a keen observer of its day-to-day operations, Phasma knows exactly where to find General Hux at any given time of the simulated day or night aboard the Resurgent-class vessel. She takes note of the time being displayed on the HUD within her helmet – it's 16:45 and the General around this time is usually on “break” within his quarters until 17:00 when he returns to the command bridge. Having developed a certain rapport with the man very early in her career, Phasma is one of the very few – the other possibly being Kylo Ren – people that truly knows what makes the General tick. He is a creature of habit in the strictest way, even during times of conflict. And barring grave circumstance, Phasma knows he rarely strays from routine.

 

She stands outside of his residence, her finger on the keypad fixed to the wall. “Armitage,” she says simply. Hux buzzes her in without a second thought – only Phasma ever called him by his wretched birth name.

 

The Captain enters his quarters with quiet purpose before Hux offers her a seat on the ice blue sofa against the wall. She's far too pumped up with adrenaline to sit, but does so anyway out of respect and removes her helmet. Hux had the ability to make anything look like a uniform, even the silk black robe he is currently wearing, it's folds sharp and pristine. He walks to the small bar and pours two glasses of rich Corellian brandy on the rocks before joining his guest on the sofa. “Pray tell, Captain, to what do I owe this pleasure? Surely you haven't completed your After Action report already?”

 

Phasma takes the glass in her hand, swirling the contents, but does not drink it. She's far too occupied with luring the General into giving her the precious information she needs rather than sitting here drinking brandy with the cunning bastard. She continues to stir the glass while she talks, mentally piecing together the ruse as it forms. “Sir, there are rumors circulating that we have recently acquired a new Omega-class female to be used in the breeding program proposed by the Supreme Leader. I'm here to find out if the rumors are in fact true or merely conjecture.”

 

Hux takes a dainty sip from his glass, making sure to swirl the richness of the liquor around in his mouth before swallowing. Like any good brandy, especially ones made with delectable Kessel spice, it burns all the way down in the best way possible. “Always with your ear to the deck, I see. They are true, Captain. We did recently...acquire...a rather special Omega-class female. A superior specimen, indeed, unlike any we've currently in our possession. The Supreme Leader has taken quite an interest in her.”

 

Phasma attempts to remain indifferent to the General's confession. “What makes her superior to the others?”

 

Hux crosses one leg over the other in a casual manner. “During our acquisition of her, we discovered she had already been bred and successfully impregnated. What makes her different from the others is the spawn she is carrying – a thorough examination of the spawn determined it to be highly Force sensitive, a first for the program. That, dear Phasma, is what makes her so special.”

 

She has him talking now, but needs to dig even further if she is to save Sarin – they can rejoice about the pregnancy later, in private. But right now, Phasma keeps her thoughts and emotions about it in check. “What are the plans for the subject moving forward?”

 

Hux snorts before downing the last of his brandy. “Amusing you should ask, Captain. Since this particular subject has managed to garner the attention of the Supreme Leader himself, he's ordered she be protected at all times throughout the course of the gestational period. Therefore, Captain Cardinal will assume command of the regiment in lieu of your absence.”

 

“With all due respect, you can't be serious, Sir.” Phasma replies with a feign of calm disbelief.

 

The ginger grins at her in an almost friendly way. “What? Surely you aren't intimidated by such a menial task. You, the exemplary Captain Phasma?!”

 

Phasma merely shrugs off his jest. “Don't be absurd, General. I am no such thing. I am only mentioning it due to the fact that we are currently embroiled in conflict with the Resistance. And Captain Cardinal is far too lenient on my troops to ensure our victory over the New Republic.”

 

“I understand your concerns, Captain. Truly. But what's done is done. Perhaps you would like to take it up with Supreme Leader Snoke himself?”

 

“That won't be necessary, Sir.” Phasma replies.

 

“Good. The specimen is awaiting your arrival in the Quanta sector. I don't care what you do with her from this point forward, just make sure the spawn are carried to term and birthed alive. Furthermore, Supreme Leader Snoke demands detailed monthly reports pertaining to the growth and development of the spawn. Should he feel things are not progressing as intended, he's authorized the use of lethal force. Are these orders understood, Captain?”

 

Phasma dons her helmet once more and prepares to stand. “Affirmative, General.”

 

Hux watches his friend as she starts for the exit. “By the way,” he tells her, forcing her to stop just shy of the door. “My congratulations, Captain... When were you planning on telling me?”

 

Phasma merely stands there, still as stone and refuses to acknowledge his remark, unsure of its context. Was he sincere? Baiting her into confessing? With Hux, who was serious most of the time, it was hard to tell. “About?”

 

Hux stands and walks over to meet her at the door. “Don't play coy, Captain. You know what I'm referring to. You and that piece of cannon fodder.”

 

Phasma clenches her jaw at the term he's so lovingly coined for her mate. She can feel her body beginning to seethe, but it remains obscured by the bulk of her armor. She could kill him, here and now, and very much wants to, but the tactician in her advises against doing something so rash. At this point in time, at least. She's just returned from combat and feeling rather vulnerable, and killing Hux now would only incur the wrath of Ren. Though Phasma considers him as nothing more than a petulant manchild, Ren's use of the Force makes him a dangerous opponent, and she knows if she's to have any chance against him, she'd best be at her peak.

 

“I grow tired of these games, General.”

 

“It's simple, really. Or have you forgotten what Ren is capable of? He used a mind probe on her at the behest of Supreme Leader Snoke after the latter expressed his concerns over having felt a disturbance... It was only a matter of time before we obtained the information we needed. We know everything, my dear Captain. About your relationship with TN-3465 – which, I will remind you, is grounds for immediate expulsion from the Order – to the spawn she is carrying.” Hux' eyes narrow, “Oh yes, my friend, we know everything. So the question, then, becomes – to whom do your allegiances lie? To your savior, the First Order, who saved you from your meager existence on Parnassos... Or to that expendable piece of bantha fodder?”

 

It takes all her willpower to quell the sudden itchiness of her trigger finger and the savage desire to crush his trachea between the preternatural strength of her crush gauntlets. She's always been able to keep her emotions in check, a trait befitting of a competent leader, yet at this very moment, she desires nothing more than to murder the antagonistic little bastard in cold blood. It certainly wouldn't be the first time she's thought of doing so... Again, however, the tactician in her advises against it. “...My allegiance lies with the First Order, Sir.” _For now..._

 

Hux places his arms behind his back. Even dressed in a black robe the man commands an aura of authority. “Right answer, Captain. And there's been a change in your duties – I've decided to entrust TN-3465 into the care of Captain Cardinal. You will resume command of the regiment. After all, you didn't really think I'd just allow you two to continue your disgusting tryst, did you? Are these _new_ orders understood, Captain?”

 

Phasma turns on him then, swift and precise, and uses her strength to lift him up by his neck and pin him against the polished durasteel walls. Her blue eyes narrow behind her helmet. “Quite. But I feel I should warn you, Armitage. Should any harm come to her or the child – either by you, Captain Cardinal, or especially that rabid cur of yours, I will spare none of you any mercy. And I demand to see her at least twice a month going forward, supervised if need be. Is _this_ understood, General?”

 

Hux struggles to speak between chokes. “Y-yes...C-Capt...ain.”

 

Phasma brings him away from the wall, only to knock him back hard against it. His head makes contact with a hard _thwump_ before she tightens her grip around his trachea. “Apologies, General, but I'm not quite sure I heard you the first time.”

 

The General scowls at her, his face beat red and blue eyes bulging. His response is a little more forceful this time. “Y-yes...Captain!”

 

Phasma releases him then, watching as he desperately tries to catch his breath and straighten out his attire. “That's more like it,” she tells him coldly. “I can do my part of the deal... And I sincerely hope, for your sake, that you can do yours. Good day to you, General.”

 


	4. Shots Fired, Bridges Burned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick heads up but this chapter does make mention of implied rape and torture, but does not go into detail. 
> 
> Oh, and if the end of the previous chapter didn't qualify for the "Badass Phasma" tag, this one sure as hell does ;)

Captain Phasma eventually enters Quanta sector aboard the _Finalizer_ , one of the ship's many detention areas specifically designed for the keeping and maintaining of Omega-class humanoids, most of which were bought from Nar Shadaa, or “saved” (though Phasma knew better, having been a victim of that colorful ploy herself – dazzle the illiterate backwater savages, refugees and orphans by filling their heads and hearts with promises of a better life spent among the stars with the “righteous” First Order, only to be forced into fighting for a cause that was anything but righteous. Yes, she'd heard it all) from certain death on their homeworlds. Everything, from their heat cycles to their prime times for breeding, was carefully monitored by personnel trained specifically in dealing with Alpha and Omega physiology and medicine. But that's as far as the amenities went. They were still kept in pens like livestock, still treated as nothing more than breeders, and still thrown to packs of insatiable Alphas like a pieces of raw bantha meat to a pack of starving lupulcus beasts.

 

And Sarin was here in the thick of it. Somewhere.

 

She walks with purpose through the twisting corridors, past the medbay, making sure to keep her gaze fixed on the path in front of her while walking past the breeding area, where a brutal mating between Alpha and Omega males is currently taking place, and further into the vast sector until she eventually reaches the detention area, a narrow corridor with small cells on both sides, stretching the length of the hall. All the newly purchased or “saved” subjects are kept here and made to wait until being properly examined (to determine overall health and breeding potential) before being officially entered into the system. None of the cell doors are marked, but that is of no concern to the Captain, as she's able to clearly pinpoint the location of her mate via scent. She inhales sharply, feeling her heart instantly race. Sarin is here, no doubt about it.

 

Phasma can feel her heartbeat – _thump, thump, thump!_ – pound against her sternum as her muscled legs continue to carry her down the hall, Sarin's scent getting stronger with every step. The Captain is unsure of what awaits her inside of the cell, yet she presses onward, knowing she needs to see her mate, to hold her, and protect her from the dangers that threaten their Bond.

 

The Alpha's feeling of urgency, however, quickly turns into a bubbling, but quiet, rage at the sight of Captain Cardinal. Like her, his armor is rather distinctive, if only due to its bright red coloring. Responsible with training the youngest of the stormtrooper cadets aboard the _Absolution_ , Cardinal has been with the Order since being rescued by General Hux' father, Brendol, as an orphan child on Jakku. Before _she_ came along, that sithspawned beast of a woman, Cardinal had been responsible for overseeing the entire stormtrooper training program and had served as Brendol's faithful guard. The man considers Phasma as a sort of rival within the ranks, in addition to being a perpetual thorn in his side. Phasma rushes to meet him.

 

She can smell her mate just beyond the cell door. “I demand to see TN-3465, Cardinal.”

 

He hates that she's taller than him and has to crane his neck back slightly to address her. “Captain Phasma. I have my orders from General Hux himself, and they include no such thing.”

 

Phasma steps up on him, teeth barred in a threatening manner behind her helmet. “If you value your life, Captain, I suggest you stand down immediately.” she growls at him.

 

Being an Alpha himself, Cardinal refuses to comply in the presence of his fellow Alpha. “The First Order will not be intimidated by your shallow threats, Phasma.”

 

The Parnassian's tone turns bitterly cold and ruthless. “That...is your first mistake.” she utters before quickly closing the distance between them faster than Cardinal can comprehend. Cardinal grunts in pain, raw and electric, at the sudden piercing of his torso armor, and watches with blind rage as his rival retracts from him, the point of her collapsed quicksilver baton covered in his own blood. But seeing him merely doubled over and clutching his abdomen is not good enough for her, ice blue eyes narrowing behind her helmet before running through him again with the spear she keeps concealed within her gauntlets. This time, the blow is good enough to send him crashing to the grated floor below their feet.

 

Cardinal grunts in pain once more at the crushing weight of Phasma's foot grinding into his chest wound.

 

“Underestimating me...that is your second mistake, my dear Cardinal.”

 

The red stormtrooper Captain puts his hands up at the sight of Phasma training her rifle directly at his head. “...Do we have an understanding, Captain?” she asks.

 

Cardinal coughs – wetly – between gasps for breath. He's almost certain the sithspawned woman has pierced his lung, a feat only someone as savage as her could ever accomplish, and he positively loathes her for it. “Do not t-think you...can g-get away w-with this... Kriffing...monster.”

 

Phasma pulls the trigger without a second thought, the blaster bolt missing Cardinal's head by precious inches and leaving a scorching mark on the floor to mark the occasion. “I'm not going to ask you again, Captain.”

 

Cardinal sees his vision is growing dark within his helmet, beads of sweat run down his face, and though he would positively NEVER admit it to anyone from this moment forward, the man is fairly certain he's either pissed or shit himself in the wake of seeing his life flash before his eyes. “G-Go. Karking s-schutta. But it will...be the...last.”

 

Phasma sheathes her rifle and steps off Cardinal's chest, making sure the dirty base of her cape brushes over his helmet while she steps over him. She regards him with no sympathy whatsoever. “I hardly doubt that, foolish swine.”

 

* * *

 

Sarin's eyes bulge in fright as the cell door whooshes open. First it was Kylo Ren, and just recently it was Captain Cardinal...and now? Her breath hitches in her throat before she instinctively pinches her eyes shut, unable to gaze upon her next slothenly suitor and endure further more mental and physical trauma. In just the last several hours, the once loyal pilot has learned in the most brutal, humiliating ways possible – or perhaps not, yet – that the First Order seeks control not just over the galaxy, but over its very lifeblood itself. And it will do anything within its power to maintain that control.

 

Anything – including surrendering to the Resistance – was better than continuing with this charade any further.

 

Sarin grits her teeth at the sound of footsteps clanking against the metal floor.

 

“TN-3465.” the voice announces calmly.

 

Still in a fog, Sarin is unable to feel the comforting presence of the Bond she shares with Phasma, but there's no mistaking that voice anywhere. But she can barely muster the strength to even lift her head up long enough to look up. “C-Captain...?”

 

Phasma kneels before her lover's broken, naked body awash in bruises, slick, and dried blood, only to remove her armorweave cape and drape it around Sarin's shoulders. She cups the other woman's haggard cheek in the palm of her crush gauntlet, remorse filling her. “I am so sorry, my dear.”

 

The former TIE pilot attempts to smile, but it's weak. Instead, she leans into Phasma's touch. “You're...here now, love. That's...all that...matters.” she replies breathlessly.

 

Phasma removes her helmet, placing it on the hard slab within the tiny cell used for sleeping, before closing the distance between herself and her mate. Their foreheads meet as Phasma takes Sarin's gaunt face into her big palms. “Never again, my pearl. Never again will I be away from you. I promise.”

 

Sarin places a weak kiss against the Captain's pale pink lips. “I've missed you...so kriffing much.”

 

They kiss again, longer and deeper this time, with a generous mix of tongue and the right amount of teeth, but it isn't long before Sarin is forced to break away from the long overdue tender moment in order to refill her depleted oxygen. Bless the woman, she has the good sense to attempt another smile once she remembers Phasma's distaste for vulgarity. “I'm sorry. Language.”

 

Phasma responds with a rare smile and a chuckle. “Let us hope our pups don't acquire such colorful vocabulary.” She reaches to tenderly shield her lover's still flat belly with her palm.

 

Sarin can't help but gasp and look surprised by Phasma's knowledge of her condition. “You know?”

 

Phasma runs her hand in small circles around the Omega's midsection. “Of course, my dear. Alphas are able to decipher when their mate is gestating by the subtle changes in their scent.” As true as it was, however, she wasn't quite ready to divulge the fact that she'd personally confronted General Hux about the issue. In time, perhaps. Right now, all that matters to Phasma is this tender moment between lovers. She carefully scoops the beaten woman into her arms while still kneeling. Phasma nuzzles her nose against the pilot's cheek, inhaling the mild scent of her. A soft smile creeps across her pale features. “This is a joyous moment, Sarin. You are with child – _our_ child.”

 

With her arms around Phasma's neck, Sarin snuggles deep against the trooper's chest. Though the armor is cold and seemingly unwelcoming, Sarin smiles faintly at Phasma's warmth and tenderness. It wasn't rare to experience both while in the privacy of the Captain's quarters, but it was rare to see her so vulnerable within the public eye. “We knew you'd come for us, love. Are you...," her voice trails off briefly as her cheeks redden. "able to tell how many pups I'm carrying in the same way?"

 

Phasma lowers her nose to Sarin's neck and fills her lungs with the Omega's slightly sweeter scent before eventually gazing up at her with a proud look on her handsome face. "Though this is something that can only be made certain with a proper examination, I estimate no less than two pups." She moves in to claim Sarin's parched lips. "I am so proud of you, my dear. And...," Phasma looks away briefly as a rosy hue of embarrassment (which Sarin secretly finds to be adorable) flushes over the woman's scarred, alabaster face in lieu of the words that threaten to come forth from her mouth unannounced.

 

"Happy," she is finally able to say after a pause. "I am happy. And eager to see you swell with new life, to treat you like my queen, and embark on this new journey together."

 

Sarin can't help but smile in spite of her grievous circumstances. "I'd like that. Very much. Seeing you like this warms my heart."

 

Phasma thinks about it for a moment. And now that Sarin has mentioned it, she does feel a certain joy and excitement about it. It's a strange feeling, one she's never felt before, not even on Parnassos after her mate at the time, a fellow Scyre named Siv, became pregnant with their child. She had loved and protected Siv like any Alpha would, but their love for one another – and the child -- had been born out of necessity more than anything. So perhaps that was why Phasma hadn't felt as intensely as Siv did when their child was stillborn after days of agonizing labor hunkered down within the fragile safety of the Nautilus. This child, however, hadn't been created out of absolute necessity as Phasma and Siv's child had been. Phasma could breathe at least a tad easier knowing this child wouldn't end in blood and loss even before it was born. And that was, perhaps, one of the reasons why she was unusually optimistic at the moment.

 

Phasma comes to her feet, still cradling Sarin in her arms. She looks down at her, concerned by the woman's sudden trembling. “All is well now. I'm taking you away from here. All of you.”

 

“I...I'm scared, Phasma. For myself and the pups. I...I don't want to be here anymore. Treated like an animal, as a slave.” Sarin's eyes grew hot and intense with newfound outrage, her voice becoming much too big for the small cell. “After all I've done for the Order, thinking that it was the right thing to do, that I was making a difference! It was all a lie! The First Order are just as ruthless as the Hutts and I no longer want any part in their charade – I won't!”

 

Phasma attempts to reassure and calm her. “Then we shall flee, it is that simple. The First Order thinks I will forever be in debt to them for getting me off that faceless rock, but I owe them nothing. As do you, Sarin. For nearly a deca-cycle, I'd been merely existing, fighting for a shallow cause until something better came along.” She brushes her lips gently against Sarin's own. “And you, my dear, are that something. We are not weak minded, and that is what they fear most.”

 

She motions with her head for her helmet, which Sarin procures and puts it back over the Captain's head and seals it, the tone of her voice turning synthetic and vengeful as she heads for the cell door, still clutching her mate. “Come. Let us give them a nightmare from which they will never wake.”

 


	5. Into The Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phasma and Sarin know now what they must do in order to keep their pups safe. even if if it means sacrificing the only sense of stability they've even known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! For some reason (damn you, interesting Star Wars related things on pintrest, lol) this chapter took far longer to get done than the ones prior to this. My apologies, my pretties. 
> 
> Also, I make brief use of the "background Kylux" tag in this chapter. Take a guess at what they're doing ;) 
> 
> And TN-3465's BB unit (at least I think it was hers. The "Captain Phasma" comics don't explicitly state that it's her personal droid, but I figured why not?) BB-K8 appears! Expect to see a lot of her moving forward.

Captain Phasma and her pregnant mate had just agreed to do the unthinkable – defect from the First Order and abandon the only lives both of them had ever known – and begin anew for the sake of their budding family. Nothing about this prospect was going to be easy, but neither of them were foolish enough to ever believe otherwise. With First Order high command now possessing the knowledge and interest in Phasma and Sarin's pups though, the two women were determined to see their plan through, no matter the risk.

 

As Phasma stands before the sealed cell door, Sarin stops her with a question. “Wait. Is your comm working, Phasma?”

 

Phasma regards her mate calmly. “Yes. Why?”

 

“I need you to tell my BeeBee unit to disable all of the cams in Quanta sector and the levels leading to the TIE fighter barracks, plus whatever else you deem necessary, Captain.”

 

Phasma slowly nods. “Understood,” she replies before opening a channel to BB-K8, Sarin's personal BB unit. “BeeBee Kay-Eight, this is Captain Phasma. Do you copy?”

 

Sarin can hear the faithful droid's beeping and chirping. “She reads, you, Captain.” she tells Phasma.

 

“Disable all surveillance systems in Quanta sector, all levels leading to TIE barracks and all weapons systems for approximately one hour.”

 

More bleeping, booping and chirping. Sarin promptly deciphers it. “Says she's on her way to the nearest access terminal and will notify you once the cams and weapon systems are disabled.”

 

The line goes silent while the little droid presumably goes about its task. “I was unaware of your fluency in Binary.” Phasma muses in the silence.

 

“It's a little overwhelming at first but you get the hang of it eventually. Maybe I can teach you and the children sometime. You know...once this is all behind us.”

 

Phasma smiles from within her helmet. “I would like that.”

 

Moments later, Phasma hears the droid bleeping within her helmet once more. Again, Sarin translates. “She says all cams and weapon systems aboard the ship have been disabled. She also says she will be standing by awaiting your next command, Captain.”

 

The Alpha makes sure her grip on her mate is secure before opening the cell hatch. “Very well. Once we are done here, I will have to give the little bucket of bolts my thanks. Until then, let's move.”

 

With Sarin barely able to walk due to her injuries, Phasma is forced to carry her all the way back to the TIE pilot's quarters. Along the way, the pair are given questioning glances by passersby – officers and troopers alike -- but Phasma is quick to calm their suspicion by suggesting she is merely looking for a “quick fix” before returning the Omega to her cell. She provides no other information, knowing how rumors and petty gossip tend to spread like wildfire around the ship, before resuming her brisk pace with her mate in tow. Eventually – with approximately thirty five minutes before the cams are set to reactivate – the pair reach Sarin's quarters, where BB-K8 is found waiting for her master's return. She gives Sarin a happy chirp before following on Phasma's heels as she enters the residence and promptly shuts the door behind her.

 

The Alpha eases her partner down to rest on the cot before walking over to the small closet to fetch the Omega a fresh set of undergarments, – black bodysuit, panties – a spare flight suit, helmet, and a set of straps (a backpack used to safely transport BB series droids across rough terrain), carefully laying out the clothing on the bed before making her way into the small refresher room to procure a small medkit and Sarin's heat suppressants, tucking them within one of the small pouches hidden within her armorweave cape. Sarin attempts to dress herself as best as she can, but quickly sputters from exhaustion and immediately curses aloud at her weakness: “Kriffing hell!”

 

Her Alpha is immediately kneeling before her bedside, however, ready to offer her assistance. “Do not fret, my dear. Let me help you,” Phasma says before reaching into one of the compartments on her belt. She pulls out a stim injection and promptly sticks the needle into Sarin's naked thigh. “This will help you remain ambulatory until I am able to procure you proper medical treatment. I will help you dress.” Phasma helps her into her boyshort panties and black bodysuit – in a less critical situation, Phasma muses, she would enjoy nothing more than loving her mate with her big, calloused hands and the feel of black lycra and flesh against her fingertips. But alas, she knows it will have to wait for a more proper time, and moves on to helping her into the skintight bodysuit.

 

Phasma helps the newly dressed Omega to her feet. There was to be no coming back from what they were about to do, the uncertainty that awaited them. But, as they well knew, nothing was ever truly certain from one moment to the next. Unless gifted by the Force with the power of foresight, it was nearly impossible for one to predict the events of the future. All they could do was prepare as best as they possibly could, weather the bad times and cherish the good. It was a waste of time to worry about that which was uncertain.

 

The Captain takes her lover's hand into one of her crush gauntlets to briefly squeeze it. “...When this is all behind us, I wish to do you proper and become your lifemate.”

 

Sarin looks down, smiling at BB-K8 as she whirs with what could be construed as sadness. “Of course you're coming with us, Lady,” Sarin tells her while giving the black and silver droid a pat on the head. “As long as Phasma says it's OK. It's OK, right?” she asks Phasma.

 

“Of course it is, my dear. She will be a big help with our pups.” Phasma replies. “Among other things.”

 

Sarin merely smiles at her.

 

Phasma releases Sarin's hand, only to reach for her rifle, once again back within her commander mode. “Let's move. Our destination is the nearest hanger. Let nothing stay your hand, Sarin. The time for mercy is over. If we are to survive, we must become the very animals we once sought to crush. Do you understand?”

 

Sarin nods while gulping down her nerves and nausea. “Yes, Phasma.”

 

“Understood. Move out.”

 

* * *

 

Reconnaissance. It was a simple enough word, unassuming, coming from the Captain's mouth – field officers and stormtroopers alike had merely assumed that the workaholic stormtrooper Captain (she was very much akin to General Hux, no doubt) – always one to help further the cause of the Order – really was going on a recon mission, perhaps to dig for any intel – even a meager tidbit – that would give them the jump on the Resistance' next course of action. It was wartime after all, and the prestigious Captain had a very important part to play in the conflict. Rather than question her about the mission, however – they all knew better than to question Phasma's intent, given her reputation aboard the ship – any and all personnel Phasma and Sarin encountered on their brief trip simply went about their duties while the trio were left to continue their trek, inconspicuous.

 

The trio moves with mild urgency – enough to give the impression that their immediate assistance is required somewhere, but not quickly enough to call attention to themselves – Phasma, as Sarin's Alpha, naturally leads the way while the Omega TIE pilot trails close behind her, the stim shot having taken effect. BB-K8 nips at her owner's heels, her internal drive units whirring softly as she rolls along the polished floors, and beeps every so often to remind the pair of how much time they have left before the cams reactivate and their escape becomes nigh impossible.

 

Neither of them spare a breath until they are safely within the cockpit of a newly serviced Special Forces TIE Fighter, having been brought up from the maintenance bay after days of downtime. Sarin sits in the pilot's seat, her faithful droid secure and motionless at her legs. Phasma mans the gunner's seat and wastes no time in cycling through the various weapons systems. Sarin's black gloved hands move across the many buttons and terminals, knowing exactly where to go and what to push, the ship's ION engines roaring to life and idly howling. “Primary ignition sequence activated, Captain. Deflector shields online. Hyperdrive stable.” She then addresses the flight observation deck, “Spec-Ops Oh-Oh-Six to flight deck. Requesting detach of primary security tether.”

 

“Spec-Ops Oh-Oh-Six, you are cleared for launch. Primary security tether offline.”

 

“Roger that, tower.” Sarin grabs hold of the control sticks, steering the ship towards the gaping maw of the hangar while simultaneously detaching the fuel cell locks and gunning the engines, and grins upon hearing the telltale, whip-like _SNAP!_ of the tether breaking free of the ship. “Security tether jettisoned. We're all clear.” 

 

* * *

 

General Hux and Kylo Ren are in the middle of a rather steamy – and always violent encounter whenever Ren was concerned – exchange within the bedroom of Hux's residence aboard the _Finalizer_ when the General's datapad begins to beep on the nightstand in the midst of Ren's violent thrusts within his ginger lover. “For fuck's sake, it can wait, Hux. I'm...I'm almost there,” Ren impatiently tells him, but even Kylo knows that nothing, not even his gloriously thick Alpha cock, comes between Armitage Hux and his precious datapad, and so the knight pulls out of the man with an angry and disappointed huff before stomping off into the refresher to finish himself off. Yet again.

 

Hux tries to straight himself out as best as he can before reaching for his datapad. “Yes, what is it, Captain Peavey? This had better be important.”

 

“I am sorry for the interruption, General, but Captain Cardinal wishes to speak with you in Medbay. He says it's urgent.”

 

The General's eyebrows furrow, concerned. “What is Captain Cardinal doing in Medbay? He is supposed to be surveying TN-3465 in Quanta sector.”

 

“He claims to have been attacked by Captain Phasma, sir.”

 

Hux' concern quickly turns to anger. “What?!” He pounces to his feet before wrapping his lower body in a bed sheet. “Where is Captain Phasma now?!”

 

“On a reconnaissance mission, sir. Reports indicate she just left.”

 

The General is livid now, his blue eyes smoldering. “You fool! She played you like the incompetent asshole you clearly are! I did not authorize such a mission! Scramble an attack squadron and bring her back here immediately!”

 

Peavey salutes. “Yes sir!”

 

Hux promptly ends the conversation – but doesn't turn off his datapad – before scrambling back into his uniform and general's coat. “Ren! Hurry up in there, you insatiable brute – I need you to take over operations while I tend to some important business regarding our prized Omega scum!”

 

Kylo comes from the refresher, spent and brooding. “Will you be gone long?”

 

The man really was an insatiable brute, leading Hux to question – on more than one occasion -- what he'd seen in Kylo to begin with. Yes, he was powerful, even savage at times. Yes he had a great body, and a sex drive that would make even the most dominant of Alphas hang their head (pun intended) in shame and awe of his virility. But there were times, such as right now, when he could be absolutely oblivious when it came to matters that didn't directly concern him.

 

Hux attempts to remain as calm as possible. “I do not know. All I know is something terrible has happened and I must fix it before Leader Snoke finds out.” He reaches down to fetch Kylo's robes off the floor, tossing them towards the naked knight. “We will finish this later, I promise. Now get that disgusting look of sadness off your face and do as you are told.”

 

Kylo begins to dress himself in silence as Hux glances at him one more time before leaving. A slight grin curves his mouth once the General has vacated his residence. If feigning stupidity was the price he had to pay to watch his Omega assert himself – it turned him on, frankly, the sight of the wiry, fair skinned redhead puffing out his chest, pretending to be the Alpha male in their often tumultuous relationship – then Kylo was more than willing to pay the price.

 

* * *

 

Meanwhile, the small, two-man fighter is clear across the galaxy by now, far from the influence of the First Order, and merely drifting about somewhere within the Western Reaches of the Mid Rim territories in an effort to conserve what fuel is left inside the craft after having expelled a great deal of it during the two hyperspace jumps that had brought her crew this far. But at least the pair can breathe now. The Order will be unable to track their signal this far away, and by the time the cams and weapon systems aboard the _Finalizer_ came back online, Phasma and Sarin were already in the midst of their first of two hyperspace jumps.

 

“Capt--” Sarin erupts within the silence, “I mean, Phasma. We're approaching planet Takodana. Perhaps we will be able to procure resources and refuge there?”

 

“Perhaps. Records indicate it is sparsely populated, but hospitable. The pirate, Maz Kanatta, has owned an establishment there for eons, until it was destroyed by First Order forces in search of a BeeBee unit owned by Resistance forces. She is considered neutral in her political beliefs and therefore welcoming of humanoids on both sides of the moral spectrum. Perhaps she can be of some assistance to us.”

 

Sarin winces behind her helmet, unable to contain the soft grunt of pain. The stim injection Phasma had administered to her aboard the Finalizer was beginning to wear off and she wasn't sure how much longer she – nor it – would be able to last from now on. And Phasma, keen to even the most minute shift in her mate's energy, had sensed as much. “We will seek refuge there, my dear. Your condition is of paramount importance to me. Take us down.”

 

“Yes, Captain,” Sarin replies, only to quickly apologize, “I mean Phasma. I'm sorry.” Habit was an insidious little creature, indeed. “Prepare for atmospheric reentry.”

 

But the former Captain doesn't seem to mind the slip of the tongue in spite of the fact that she, an exemplary member – and posterchild – of the First Order, no longer wielded such significant power in the face of the enemy, nor did she mind the fact that she is now, for all intents and purposes, a nobody in the grander scheme of things. Resistance versus First Order, their petty conflict matters nothing to her now. And rather than go crawling towards either side for the sake of having a purpose, Phasma believes that, if the Force is in fact reality rather than some hokey religion, then it will decide where her purpose in all of this lies. She grins wryly. Kylo would surely agree, and she wonders if, in some strange way now that she's without a side in this conflict, his beliefs have begun to subtly rub off on her for the sake of believing in _something._

 

The ship makes a smooth landing in a large clearing surrounded by thick, green forests, rugged mountains, and rushing streams. It's quiet here, save for the fading whirring sound of the TIE's engines and the distant sounds of flurrgs croaking and birds chirping. But the silence is soon pierced by the sound of Sarin, violently emptying the contents of her stomach to the ground beneath her. “I...was wondering...when that was...gonna happen,” she notes, panting heavily, her knees knocking against each other and threatening to give way beneath her.

 

Phasma comes up from behind, her arms drawing around Sarin's midsection. “It is only temporary, my dear. But know that I will do all in my power to help you through this process.”

 

Sarin turns in Phasma arms, facing her now, with hands reaching to unmask her lover. The chrome helmet falls to the grassy turf below with a blunt _thwump_ as Sarin takes Phasma's scar-ridden face into her palms. “I have no doubt about that, love.” A playful grin graces her features. “But you know, that could all change several months from now when I'm heavy and swollen with our pups, my complexion swarthy, ankles and feet swollen, and as angry as a rabid rancor. Will you still be eager to help me then?”

 

Phasma can't help but smile at the image. “Absolutely. And you are selling yourself short, my pearl. You will be beautiful – radiant, even – not this fearsome beast you speak of. I am sure of it.”

 

Sarin steals a kiss from her Alpha – in spite of the aftertaste of bile in her mouth -- that quickly turns into a lengthy – and long overdue – exploration of each other, hungry and passionate, until they are both forced to break the tender moment for the taking in of much needed breath. “That's for trying to make me feel better about what's to come,” she tells her lover. She feels Phasma's hand slip between their bodies and stroke her stomach with her thumb.

 

“It will be. I will make sure of it.” Phasma replies before pulling away from her slowly. She reaches into one of the pockets inside her cape, pulling out a decidedly small object. “...Since our ties to the Order have been promptly severed, I am no longer hesitant to present you with this, my dear.” Sarin gazes down at Phasma's large fist as it slowly opens to reveal a weathered ring. “It is a relic from my homeworld in which I have kept safe for all these cycles. And now I wish for you to have it, as my proposal to you.”

 

Sarin stares down at the ring, equal parts flabbergasted and elated at the prospect put forth before her. Though they have more or less formed a mating bond, seeing the ring in Phasma's palm fills the former pilot with unspeakable joy. By accepting it, they will be joined forever, their bond becoming all the more unbreakable. With them having become targets of the Order they once fought for – _It is only a matter of time before our WANTED! posters go up in every seedy, swarthy cantina in the galaxy, calling to bounty hunters and gangs alike_ , Sarin thinks with a pang of dread – and the Resistance they fought against, plus the ongoing threat to their unborn pups, their bond to one another needed all the reinforcement it could muster.

 

Sarin wasn't sure what the future held for her, Phasma, and their pups, but one thing was certain to the pilot: they would face it head on, together. “Oh, Phas! Of course I will!” she happily exclaims.

 

Afterwards, now having placed the ring on Sarin's finger (it is the slightest bit snug, made for a smaller hand, Phasma notes mentally, but much to her relief, Sarin seems the least bit concerned.) Phasma smiles and scoops up the smaller woman, hoisting her off her feet. Sarin settles against the genderless, smooth swell of Phasma's chest armor as the former Captain cradles her like the very baby she carries within her womb. “I am so glad. You have made me the happiest woman in the entire galaxy. You, my beautiful Omega and mother to our brood.”

 

And just like that, the once simple crack in her armor turns into a complete and utter shattering of her once impervious heart.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, my lovelies, there will be no lesbian deaths here, only marriage proposals! 
> 
> Also, maybe you guys can provide some input on this: Are Hux' eyes green or blue? In some photos they look blue, and in others they look green or hazel.


	6. Gimme Shelter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for taking so long to get this chapter out, my lovelies. I went on vacation, but didn't really feel like working on the story in the meantime. Thank you to everyone who has left kudos up to this point. Comments are welcome as well, I don't bite! 
> 
> Anyway, onward with the story!

_Aboard the Finalizer..._

 

General Hux strides into Captain Cardinal's cubicle within the Medbay. Cardinal lay in his bed conscious, but in a heavily sedated state from the various needles and tubes in his arms, pumping him full of Hells knew what. Looking at him like this, Hux can't help but think he looks more like some sort of freakish marionette than a well-regarded stormtrooper Captain. He's covered from the waist down in loose fitting garments, his torso exposed. Two large bacta patches cover the near fatal injuries he suffered at the hands of Captain Phasma. Hux learns from the medi-droid that Cardinal sustained a couple broken ribs and a pierced lung, and for a moment the General wonders if Phasma had merely been toying with the man when she'd attacked him – she always aimed for the kill, and was more often than not successful in silencing her victims. But Cardinal's injuries suggested otherwise, as if she'd intentionally missed piercing his heart in the hopes of someday fighting him again on more even terms.

 

Phasma, honorable? Hux nearly laughs at the thought. The First Order was not built upon the virtue of honor! The lack of such a pitiful virtue – at least in the beginning, Hux thought – was what his friendship with Phasma had been based on. Back then, they were just looking to ascend within the ranks and didn't care how that next coveted promotion came about, so long as it happened.

 

Hux stands a little ways from Cardinal's bedside while the medi-droid hovers over its patient like an annoying shroud. Hux waves a disinterested hand towards the door. “Leave us, MD-8.”

 

“As you wish.” the droid replies in a synthesized, tinny voice.

 

As the droid floats out of the room, Hux turns his attention to the stormtrooper Captain. The only things the two men have in common are their similarities in height and staunch devotion to the First Order and all that it stands for. Cardinal is naturally tanned, his skin golden and freckled from cycles spent beneath the brutal heat and sun of Jakku as a child. Blue-black hair, cut to exact military standard length. He's no older than forty, but definitely the oldest within the stormtrooper corps. Brown eyes, with the beginnings of crows feet to suggest even he smiled from time to time. But he isn't smiling right now, his lips pursed into a bloodless line.

 

“Perhaps now you will learn to heed my words, General Hux.” He glares at the redheaded man, eyes smoldering pits of contempt. “The fact that I am laying here useless instead of leading my troops on account of that karking woman merely proves what I have been trying to tell you ever since she arrived here – Phasma is not to be trusted. And the second she deems herself as having nothing more to gain from the First Order, she will not think twice about betraying all that we have done for her.”

 

Hux merely rolled his eyes and crossed his arms within the warmth of his general's coat. “Well, clearly, if her supposed defection is any indication. But do not be so quick to dismiss her, Captain. While I have ordered a squadron to investigate her sudden disappearance, I have complete faith in her allegiance to the Order and our cause.”

 

Cardinal attempts to remain calm for the sake of not wanting to aggravate his chest injuries. “Perhaps. But I am not foolish enough to hold my breath for that happening, General.” He glares at the General again, eyes once more filled with contempt for whom he privately considered to be a mockery of the TRUE General Hux in every way, shape and form. “And you shouldn't either... Sir.”

 

The younger General Hux clenches his jaw ever so slightly at the way Cardinal had uttered that last word -- reluctant and dripping with the slightest bit of scorn and venom. What Hux wouldn't give to be able to assert his authority over this relic of his father's legacy, here and now. He steadies himself with a breath instead. “We shall see, Captain,” he tells him before moving on to other, more pressing, matters. “How long do they expect you to be here, Cardinal?”

 

Cardinal rests his head back, into the pillows. “Long enough,” he replies with a cough that sends a jolt of pain through his chest. He glances up at Hux, noticing the stern look on his face, and clarifies himself. “Two, maybe three, days. But no longer, if I can help it. We have a war to win...”

 

General Hux grins at this. “Yes...Yes we do, Captain.”

 

Cardinal steels himself. “Allow me to find Phasma, General.”

 

“Absolutely not, Captain. You are to lead my troops in this fight, nothing more. I won't have you go off on some crusade to satisfy your ego.” When Cardinal attempts to get a word in, Hux is quick to stomp it with a firm warning, eyes narrowed. “Enough! If your loyalty to this organization is as steadfast as you claim, then you will have no problem allowing my men to do their jobs and find her. I am only going to say this once, Captain. Do I make myself clear?”

 

Cardinal rests back against the pillows once more, his look one of reluctant surrender. “Yes, Sir.”

 

Hux sneers. “Good. Should I have to remind you again, Reconditioning always has vacancies open for those who prove to be...difficult.”

 

* * *

 

It had bothered her to do so, but Phasma had opted to meet with Maz Kanata alone while Sarin stayed behind with the ship. “Too dangerous,” Phasma had told her, alluding to the fact that she was still in the middle of her heat cycle and though she had been marked by Phasma, if Cardinal's “conquering” of the woman was any indication, marks mattered little to any rut-crazed Alpha looking to pacify their urges, and Phasma wasn't about to run the risk of that happening should Sarin accompany her in her trek to Kanata's castle.

 

The former Captain opted to meet with Kanata on her turf and without her helmet on, hoping the gesture would keep potential confrontations to a minimum and help promote a sense of goodwill – but Phasma was nervous about leaving such an integral part of herself behind. Save for the times she was around Sarin, Phasma had never been without the comfort of her helmet and the strength it provided. But at least, she'd told herself on the way to Kanata's castle, she'd chosen to not go in completely vulnerable and kept the rest of her armor on. Being that she had crafted it from the hull of a Naboo yacht once belonging to Palpatine, it's smooth, chromium finish could withstand even the hardiest of blaster bolts and a variety of attacks, while her armorweave cape could deflect standard blaster bolt fire.

 

Ever since her millennia old castle had been destroyed by First Order forces, Maz Kanata had wasted no time in rebuilding what she could of the establishment, and while it wasn't possible to bring back its former greatness, she was at least partially successful in returning it to a fraction of its former glory. It was a two level building now, made from what she'd managed to forage from the aftermath of the battle and wood planks made from trees of the local forests, with two great stone pillars on both ends, its face adorned with what had remained of the various flags and banners. The large statue in her likeness still greeted the many weary and often swarthy folk who sought refuge from their meager lives – or the copious bounties on their heads – or those simply looking for one last hurrah and final glimpse of civilization before both became rather scarce.

 

But Phasma wasn't here looking for a good time. As she approaches the establishment, cape flowing behind her, she keeps her eyes fierce, her jaw clenched, and demeanor frosty. This place had had a tendency to cater to criminals, bounty hunters and other dangerous, downtroden individuals who gladly wouldn't think twice about engaging her in combat should things come to that – and she would be more than ready (and willing) to meet their challenge.

 

The main room, large, but rather quaint and warm, is awash in native, deep woods and weathered stone. Tattered banners and flags hang from the thick wood beams overhead. Phasma inhales the musty scent wafting around the room, mixed with the scent of wood and the slightest, bitter stench of urine and vomit. In the center of the hall lies a U-shaped bar made from rich dark wood and weathered durasteel. Industrial, by all accounts. The ancient, rust-colored protocol droid “Emmie” tends the bar. Patrons from all walks of life sit and drink, and the room is heavy with a bevy of different dialects, mixing and mingling together to form a cacophony of noise.

 

The room, however, quickly falls into a deafening silence at the intimidating sight of the former First Order stormtrooper Captain, helmetless, her armor a sharp, glistening contrast to the earthy tones of the room.

 

Maz Kanata rises from her seat at one of the tables scattered about the room. Though the humanoid pirate is rather diminutive, her guests at her establishment know better than to cross her. “This is no place for beasts of the First Order! Begone!” she barks behind an accusatory finger.

 

Phasma, in a gesture of peace, places her hand against her chest, her clipped voice amplified around the room. “I am Phasma. I come here not of the will of the First Order, but of my own freewill. I do not wish to cause you, nor your guests, any harm.”

 

Maz begins to approach the statuesque woman. “You... You have caused much suffering across the galaxy – why should I believe you?”

 

“I understand your apprehension. However, circumstances beyond my control have forced me to reevaluate my purpose in this life. Joyous, but still dire, circumstances.”

 

A gifted reader of people, Maz silently contemplates Phasma's words and facial language. Though the woman appears stoic, cold, even, and is dressed for war, the ageless pirate cannot discern any hint of malice behind her plea. Still, Maz is plenty aware of Phasma's reputation, her past, and so therefore decides to tread lightly. Maz gestures to a table behind her, towards the back of the room. “...Come, then. I wish to know these circumstances you speak of, Phasma.”

 

They sit at a small, makeshift booth covered in plush pillows, far away from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the place. Phasma sits on the floor, her armored legs crossed, while Maz sits against the wall, keeping a watchful eye on her guests. “I am grateful that you agreed to an audience with me,” Phasma begins. “My mate and I were forced to land here after her well being became an utmost concern. But for her safety, I forbade her from accompanying me here.”

 

After a brief moment of silence, Maz urges her guest to continue. “I see. Go on, Phasma. Do not be afraid. If you are truly no longer of the Order, then you should have no trouble opening yourself to me.”

 

Phasma swallows hard, the finality of Maz's words striking her with blunt force. “...I am not afraid,” she clarifies, but doesn't like the slight undertone of betrayal in her voice. Perhaps she was afraid. Of starting over, of her newfound freedom, of the implications of her choice. Really...there were many reasons. The health and safety of Sarin and their progeny had been only the tip of the proverbial iceberg. “...My mate is an omega-class human female – the First Order treats them as if they are inferior beasts whose only purpose is to breed,” Phasma clenches her hands into tight fists as the image of seeing Sarin naked, bloody and beaten flashes within her mind. “...She was taken into custody at some point during my absence after High Command discovered she was gestating at least one Force-sensitive lifeform. I was told by General Armitage Hux that the Supreme Leader had taken an interest in both my mate and our child. And that is why I am before you now.”

 

Maz reaches across the table to gently grasp Phasma's hand, uncurling it from its rigid clench. She adjusts her goggles with her free hand, her eyes becoming larger. She peers long and hard into Phasma's own, and deeper still, into her very soul. “...Your transformation has begun, child. All your life you have done nothing but fight for survival, yet you have been unable to discern for what reason. As I look at you now, however, I sense you have finally discovered the reasons for which you truly fight -- no longer for yourself, but for those you cherish.”

 

Phasma leans in. “Yes. Can you help us? Sarin, she...she is in need of medical attention. We will do what we must to earn our keep here for the time being.”

 

Maz readjusts her goggles, her eyes returning to their beady darkness. “I will offer you what assistance I am able. Room, board, clothing. Unfortunately, however, I am only able to offer basic medical assistance. Before this can happen, however, I must assess her personally. Will you take me to her?”

 

Phasma nods before coming to her feet. “She is awaiting my return in a forest just shy of here. Follow me.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I love getting kudos from readers, but I THRIVE on actual reader comments! Tell me what you liked (or not, so long as you aren't mean about it), how it made you feel, or even what you'd like to see happen in the future! Please, don't be afraid. I don't bite :) 
> 
> Also, I have a tumblr. Yay! It's called "Phasma Ships It!" and it pretty much focuses on Star Wars, Phasma, Metroid, and whatever else that interests me. Check it out if you'd like :)


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